by Jennie Marts
If the oven timer hadn’t gone off, she’s not sure what would have happened, how far things would have gone. She was so immersed in the moment, so spellbound in his kiss that if he’d carried her to his bedroom, or heck, if he’d lifted her to the counter, she would have complied. She’d been like putty in his hands.
Gah. She did not want to be putty in anyone’s hands. Putty signified she could be molded or shaped by someone else’s impression of her, that she could be controlled. And she was done with that, done letting other people control how she felt, how she acted, what she thought. She sank down onto the bed, her shoulders slumping forward. Except that wasn’t true. Because even now, at this moment, she was letting someone else control her. She was letting Michael’s mother dictate how and if she got a chance to be with her son.
Everything she was doing right now was under the control of Judith Benning: the job, making the bed, cleaning the bunkhouse, creating a home for her son, even denying herself the carnal attraction to a man—and holy hell, she was feeling all kinds of carnal thoughts toward Logan, thoughts involving teeth and biting and tearing clothes.
She flopped back on the bed and covered her face with the pillow, letting out a scream into the lilac design. It didn’t matter if she had the pillow or not. Logan was gone for the night, so she was alone on the ranch. The only ones who would hear her scream would be the kittens, the cows, and the horse who’d tried to trample her that afternoon.
Rolling over, Harper pressed her face harder into the pillow and screamed again. Screamed out all her frustration and fury at the unfairness and the anguish of the whole situation.
Stop. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and do something about it. She sat up and pushed her hair from her damp forehead. Geez, she was so mad, she was sweating. But mad didn’t get her anywhere. And if her mom had taught her one thing—besides how to embezzle money from a large corporation—it was that life wasn’t fair.
Judith might be in control, for now, but that didn’t mean Harper had to lie down and take it. She could still fight. And no one was going to do that for her. There was only one person left in this world that she could truly trust and count on to stand up and fight her battles, and that was herself.
She’d trusted her mom, but Brandy had betrayed her.
She’d trusted Michael and her grandmother, but they had both died and left her behind.
The only one left was herself. She needed to quit rolling over and screaming into pillows, and instead draw out her weapons and scream a battle cry. She grabbed the pillow and threw it against the wall.
She might have made a few mistakes—okay, a lot of mistakes—but she wasn’t giving up, wasn’t going down without a fight. Or without her son.
She pulled out her cell phone and called Judith.
Chapter 14
Harper held her breath as she listened to the phone ring. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Then the machine answered, and Judith’s nasally voice instructed her to leave a message.
Harper snapped the phone closed. She wasn’t ready to leave a message. She’d been ready to bite the woman’s head off and demand that Judith let her have her son back. Damn. Her shoulders sank inward. Maybe it was best that Michael’s mother hadn’t answered. She didn’t seem like the type to take too well to having her head bitten off.
No, she seemed calm and educated. Well, Harper couldn’t compete with that—not unless she wanted to wait four years while she ran out and got a quick college degree—but she could appeal to the older woman’s logic. And her ego.
Judith wanted her to jump through hoops for Floyd. So Harper needed to quit floundering and start asking “how high?” She’d claimed Harper didn’t have a home or an income or a way to support Floyd. So she needed to show the woman she did. That she was working on it.
Harper opened the phone again and typed a text message to Judith that read: I’ve found a nice place to live and am working hard to create a home for Floyd. She already had a home. It was back in Kansas. But until she had enough money to get them back there, she needed Judith to believe she was trying to make a home here. I’d like to see my son. Even for a visit. I could come there, or you could bring him here. Please. I miss him. She pressed Send.
She paced the floor of the tidy living area, strategizing reasons to take the truck into town so she could see her son. Surely Judith would agree to let her visit. The woman had to have a heart. Even if it was buried under a layer of ice, it had to be in there somewhere.
If the chance miracle happened and Judith did soften and agree to let Floyd visit the ranch, Harper would have to tell Logan. But she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. She wasn’t planning to keep her son a secret forever. She would eventually tell Logan.
But she knew telling him would inevitably be the end of the relationship, or whatever it was they were doing. Relationship seemed too strong a word—maybe rapport was better. Whatever they had, it would come to a screaming halt when Logan found out she was a criminal who had spent time in jail and lost her son in the process.
It didn’t matter. The most important thing was Floyd. And getting to see him and hug him to her chest. Her arms ached to hold him, to wrap him up and tell him how much she loved him.
Her phone dinged, and she pressed it to her mouth, afraid to look. She took a deep breath, snapped the phone open, and then let out a heart-wrenching moan.
I appreciate your efforts, but we have to put Floyd first. He is happy where he is, and seeing you will only bring up all the past hurts and feelings of betrayal and abandonment. I know you want to see him, but you have to put his needs first. Floyd is happy. Do you really want to mess that up?
Judith included a picture of Floyd sitting on a sofa—Harper assumed it was in Judith’s house—and laughing as he held a controller to a video-game system. Harper soaked in every detail of the picture, her heart aching to hear her son’s laughter.
He did look happy. And she’d never be able to give him any kind of gaming system or the kind of home she could see visible in the background of the photo. But what did that matter? Plenty of kids grew up without a PlayStation and in less-than-perfect houses, and they adjusted fine. Granted, they probably didn’t have ex-cons for mothers, but still.
This was just one setback. It just meant she needed to work harder to prove to Judith that being with his mother was the best thing for Floyd. Or…the demon side of her conscience piped up…it meant that she just needed to forget asking permission and go take back her son.
But how? It’s not like she could march into the school and take him. There’s no way the school would allow that. And Judith had made it clear she wasn’t going to let Harper into her house.
But what if she didn’t wait to be invited? What if she waited until she knew Floyd was home, then barged through the door? She might get to see her boy for a few minutes, but then knowing Judith, she’d have her arrested for trespassing.
No, Harper needed to be smart, to be patient, and to play Judith’s game. She was back to jumping through hoops, but she’d do it. She’d do whatever it took.
She stripped down to her thermal shirt and undies and climbed between the fresh, clean sheets. It was still early, but she’d borrowed a paperback thriller she’d been wanting to read and hoped it would take her mind off her problems. Settling against the pillows, she tried to focus on the book, but her mind kept wandering as she thought about Judith’s text. What if Michael’s mother was right and she was only thinking of herself? Was she really just being selfish? Would Floyd be better off—happier—if she left him with Judith and quietly disappeared from his life?
* * *
Logan stepped out of the locker room and waited by the bleachers as the rest of the kids straggled out. Hockey practice had gone well tonight. Colt and Chloe had both been there, so they’d been able to separate the kids into groups and work on individual drills. He glanced across the arena to
where the two of them were huddled on the bleachers, their heads bent together as they studied a clipboard.
Logan smiled as he sank onto the bleachers next to them, happy for his two friends and the relationship they’d found with each other. “What are you two working on?”
Chloe wore a soft, blue knitted beanie over her mass of blond curls, and she smiled over at him. “We were just working on the lines. I’m thinking of changing a couple of kids on the blue and red lines.” She had convinced him and Colt to name the offensive and defensive lines with colors instead of numbers so none of the kids felt like they were on a lesser team.
The teacher in her was always thinking of things like that—ways to boost the kids’ morale and keep them engaged.
“Sounds good to me.”
“You’re awfully agreeable tonight.” Colt gave Logan’s shoulder a nudge. “In fact, you’ve been in an exceptionally good mood the last few times I’ve seen you. So who is she?”
Logan feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Although of course he did, and he knew his innocent act wasn’t fooling his best friend.
“Yeah, sure. That grin and your all-around good mood wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain woman you can’t stop talking about, would it? A woman who’s been cooking you supper and whose name sounds like a musical instrument and rhymes with Tarper.”
“Tarper? Seriously? That’s not even a word.”
“Sure it is. It’s someone who lays out a tarp. Look it up. And you’re avoiding the question.”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah, okay. I may have been spending a little time thinking about Harper. But wait till you meet her. She’s pretty great.”
“She must be,” Colt said. “I haven’t seen you all googly-eyed and falling for a woman in…well, ever.”
“That’s because I don’t get googly-eyed.” Logan’s brows knit together. “And I never said I was falling for her.”
“You never said you weren’t.”
Logan’s shoulders slumped forward, and he let out a sigh, tired of this game. “Look, you know I don’t do relationships. The women in my life don’t tend to stick around, and this one isn’t planning to either. She’s already said she’ll be gone by Christmas, so it’s a nonstarter. We just have fun together, and I like being around her.”
“Don’t listen to this lunkhead,” Chloe said, giving Colt one of her teacher stares. “Personally, I think it’s great you found someone you can tolerate to help you out. I wasn’t sure after the last few. I was afraid I was going to have to come out and cook for you. And if you like this woman, you don’t have to turn it into a big thing about whether she’s going to stay or leave. Just enjoy each other’s company. It doesn’t have to be forever. It can just be nice for now.”
Chloe made a lot of sense, but Logan’s gut had already turned sour. He didn’t know what he was thinking, imagining some kind of future with Harper. He never should have kissed her. It had only made things worse, made him want something he could never have.
Logan shrugged. “Whatever. It’s no big deal. I appreciate the support, Chloe, but in my experience, you can’t count on women to stick.” He nodded to the boy walking toward them—a boy they all knew was currently living with his grandmother because his mom had abandoned him. “Case in point.”
The boy smiled shyly as he approached Logan. “Hey, Coach.”
“Hey, Floyd. How’s it going? You did great in practice tonight.”
“Thanks. I’m having a little trouble with my stick though.” He held up his hockey stick. “Think you can help me? I can’t get the tape on the end right.” The end of his stick was a wadded ball of tape. “My grandma tried, but I don’t thinks she’s very good at this kind of thing. She said it made her hands all sticky.”
“Sure, bud.” Logan patted the bench next to him, then held out his hand for the stick. “Have a seat, and let me take a look at it.”
The boy handed him the stick and plopped down next to him. Logan stripped the sticky, black misshapen ball of tape from the end of the stick, then dug through his hockey bag and found a fresh roll of white tape. “I like to use white tape because it doesn’t mark up your gloves. Is that okay?”
Floyd nodded. “Yeah. I think that black stuff was just some tape my grandma found in the garage.”
Logan agreed. “I like to put one nice, clean strip at the top, then let the tape dangle a few feet and give it a couple of quick spins.” He wrapped a neat strip around the end, then spun the roll while the tape dangled. “That’s gonna make your tape curl up like a rope, and that’s what will give you a good grip for your top hand.” He wound the curled tape a few inches down the end of the stick. “You want to wind it down like a spiral so it’s like you’re getting finger grooves in there, then wind the tape back up to the top. And make sure it’s nice and tight.” Circling the handle, he neatly wound the tape back up the stick, covering the rows of curled tape. “Then the trick to getting a good knob is to just use half the piece of tape at a time. Then you’re not wasting the roll.” He ripped the tape down the center and twisted it around the end several times, then wrapped the stick with the other side of the piece. “You want a nice knob on the end so if you drop your stick, you can pick it up easier off the ice without having to take off your gloves.”
Floyd was watching as he listened intently to Logan’s instructions. “You’re good at this.”
Logan shrugged and wrapped the end with a fresh piece of tape to seal off the knob. “I’ve been doing it a long time. And this is how the pros do it. I have a good friend who plays for the NHL, and this is how he taught us.”
“He did? That’s cool.”
“I think you’ve met him. It’s Max’s dad, Rock.”
“Oh yeah. He covers the penalty box during the games once in a while. And sometimes he cusses at the ref.”
Logan chuckled. “Yeah. He shouldn’t do that. But he’s a good guy most of the time.”
“Yeah. Max is lucky.” The boy stared at the top of his shoe. “I don’t have a dad anymore. I did, but he died.”
Logan’s hand stilled on the end of the stick. “I’m sorry. That’s a tough break for a kid. I know what it’s like. My mom died when I was a kid too.”
Floyd lifted his head and squinted at Logan. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And it was hard.”
The boy let out a soft sigh, and his shoulders slumped. “I miss him.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Sometimes I miss him so much, I feel like my chest is going to break in half. Did that ever happen to you?”
Logan swallowed. It was happening to him right now. His heart was breaking for this kid. “Yeah, it did. It sometimes still does. That’s pretty normal.”
Floyd looked out over the ice. “I wish he could see me play hockey. He gave me a stick and a puck for Christmas when I was little. My grandma says he’s always watching me play, like from heaven, ya know. Do you think that’s true?”
Logan couldn’t speak because of the ball of emotion clogging his throat. He nodded instead, then swallowed. “Yeah. I do, buddy. I think that’s absolutely true.”
“Cool.” Floyd shifted his gaze to the hockey stick. “That looks way better than when my grandma did it.”
Logan chuckled. “Thanks. And this is what coaches are for. You let me know if you need help with any of your other equipment, or if you just want to talk. About your dad, or whatever.”
“Thanks, Coach.” A smile beamed from the boy’s face as he looked up, and Logan felt like a superhero.
Floyd hopped up from the bleachers just as his grandmother, Judith, walked toward them. She put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, honey, why don’t you go get your hockey bag, and we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home.”
“Okay.” He turned to wave to Logan before running off. “See ya, Coach.”
Judith smiled as she watched him go, then turned to Logan. “I saw you helping him with the tape business on the stick. I’m afraid I made a mess of it. Thank you for fixing it.”
“No problem. And I was happy to help. Let me know if he needs anything else. That’s what we’re here for.”
“That’s kind of you. I did want to ask how you think he’s doing. He seems to really be taking to the team.”
“Oh yeah. He’s a great kid.”
“He’s had a rough time. You know his dad—my son, Michael—died years ago, and his good-for-nothing mother has been serving time in jail.” She shook her head in disgust. “I don’t know how my Michael ever let himself get involved with a woman like that. I tell you, she cared more about herself than she did Floyd. And she was too lazy to get a job and resorted to criminal activity instead of taking care of her son.”
Fury churned in Logan’s gut. How could a mother abandon her own kid? Especially a kid like Floyd? He was smart and funny. He had a good heart and was generous to a fault. Logan had seen him share his snacks numerous times, and Floyd was the first to help another kid who had fallen on the ice or needed an extra hand or someone to partner with for a drill.
This was Floyd’s first year playing hockey, but he was already showing great skill at skating and was adept with stickhandling and moving the puck. He was easily one of the best kids on the team, yet he still listened to direction and never hogged the puck. Logan and Colt had grown up with and passed on to their team the philosophy that good players scored, but great players passed. And Floyd often passed the puck, even to Maddie, the lone girl on their team.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Judith. No kid deserves that. And like I said, Floyd’s a terrific kid and a great addition to the team. You must be a good influence on him.”
“Thank you.” She smiled and puffed out her chest, reminding him of a peacock they’d once had and the way it had strutted around the ranch.
Logan didn’t know Judith well. They’d occasionally crossed paths at church, so he knew who she was, like people in small towns knew of each other. But she seemed like a nice enough lady, and she appeared to really care for her grandson.